


Level Up

by Ladybug_21



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Gen, National Security
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: President Bartlet discovers that his National Security Council is secretly running an intense Dungeons & Dragons campaign after hours in the Situation Room.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	Level Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiguresflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresflower/gifts).



> Set (very vaguely) around Season 3. And inspired in no small part by this [amazing Reddit thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5pergg/wp_youre_a_us_senator_and_are_running_out_of/), because wouldn't we all join ~~President~~ ~~Senator~~ Dungeon Master Elizabeth Warren's campaign in less than a heartbeat. All rights to _The West Wing_ belong to Aaron Sorkin & Co.

"Mr. Chairman?"

"Mr. President," replied Fitz respectfully, and he and the rest of the National Security Council rose as Bartlet stood. The door closed behind the President and the Chairman of his Joint Chiefs of Staff as they left the Situation Room and started down the hallway towards the Oval Office.

"If anything changes on the ground," Bartlet began in an undertone.

"We'll let you know immediately, sir," Fitz reassured him.

"Good," Bartlet nodded, his frown pensive.

Ominous rumblings from the team monitoring Qumar had kept Fitz awake many a night, and he was glad that the President was taking the warnings seriously, with his signature deliberativeness and restraint. The likelihood was non-negligible that things would become fraught sooner rather than later, and Fitz was relieved that the figure at the helm was the type to hold the wheel steady, while calling shots as necessary. Despite the recent disclosures about the President's medical condition, Fitz still trusted that Bartlet had sound judgment, the best of intentions, and enough self-awareness to acknowledge what he did not know and defer to his advisers on matters of import. In the end, that was all that the admiral really could ask for.

"Sir?"

Bartlet had paused in the middle of the hallway, then turned and headed back towards the Sit Room. Fitz followed in his wake, perplexed.

"I think I forgot my briefing binders on the recent stimulus package vote," Bartlet explained, opening the door, "and I really should review them before..."

He stopped, confused, as the entire NSC once again scrambled to their feet, their expressions almost guilty.

"What are you all still doing in here?" asked Bartlet, bewildered.

No one answered, but then a bright-orange twenty-sided die clattered out of someone's hand and onto the table. Bartlet's eyes followed it as it rattled across the surface, rolling to a halt with the 20 side up.

"A nat twenty." Nancy McNally raised her eyebrows. "Good roll, whosever this is."

"Fitz, what's going on?" Bartlet muttered.

"Ah." Fitz cleared his throat. "Well, as our Commander in Chief, I suppose you have the right to know about the National Security Council's long-running D&D campaign."

* * *

"Leo, I can see you as a Wizard." Fitz frowned. "Let's say a Dwarf Wizard."

"Mr. Chairman, my question was, do we need to worry about the Qumaris aiming ICBMs at Washington anytime in the near future?" Leo replied drily.

He honestly had no idea what he was doing here; clearly, the NSC wasn't meeting right now. But Jed, sounding as excited and conspiratorial as a schoolboy, had called him over to be in on what he dubbed "the biggest unclassified national security secret this White House has ever seen," and so here Leo was, wondering what the hell was going on.

"The odds of Qumar refining enough fissible material to create a nuclear warhead within the next several years are slim at best; and the odds of the Iranians selling the Qumaris anything that _they_ have are doubly slim, given the historical animus and sharp religious sectarian divide between the two nations," Nancy reassured Leo. "And I'm thinking a Dwarf Bard, Mr. Chairman, not a Dwarf Wizard."

"Why do you both think I'm a Dwarf?" Leo asked, offended.

Nancy shrugged.

"So, are you in?"

"Nancy," Leo protested, "I appreciate the team-bonding mechanism, but I don't think that this is really the time or place..."

"Well, if you change your mind, just let Admiral Sissymary know," Nancy told him, sitting back down to review her character sheet.

"Admiral Sissymary?" Leo repeated, raising an eyebrow at Fitz.

"Dr. McNally said she would refuse to play, unless she got to call me that, as my official DM title," Fitz grumbled. "It seemed a small enough concession. I really do prefer when the entire NSC is involved."

"By which he means, he enjoys having the prerogative to kill off colleagues who are driving him crazy, using antagonists modeled not-so-subtly after the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee," smirked Nancy, still reviewing her character sheet.

"I'm frankly surprised that _you're_ agreeing to be a part of this," Leo muttered to Nancy, scowling.

"Leo," snorted Nancy, "you really think that I didn't spend the better part of my late-twenties applying international relations game theory models to scenarios from the _Star Wars_ films with my fellow Ph.D. students?"

"Right." Leo sighed. "I'll be in my office, if you need me."

Halfway down the hallway, he encountered the President.

"Leo, would you say I'm more of a Sorcerer or a Cleric?" Bartlet asked.

"Sir?"

"I feel like the Sorcerer speaks more to my natural political charisma," Bartlet explained. "But the Cleric speaks more to my innately spiritual side. It could be a nice counterpoint to my public-facing persona, don't you think?"

"What happens if, I don't know, North Korea starts bombing Seoul, in the middle of all of this?" Leo demanded.

Bartlet blinked.

"Then we'll all already be in the Sit Room, ready to discuss the problem seriously when we need to," he pointed out reasonably. "I didn't expect you to worry so much about all of this, Leo. It's just another collaborative way to exercise all of the creativity in this White House!"

"The First Lady expects you in the East Wing for dinner," Leo said helplessly.

"Oh." Bartlet frowned. "Well, if things run over, can't you go entertain her for a little while?"

And before Leo could respond, the President was heading towards the Sit Room, leaving the beleaguered Chief of Staff to retreat to his office, desperately wishing that he could safely treat himself to a drink.

* * *

"Josh?"

It was past 8:00 in the evening, and Leo had the feeling that Abbey Bartlet was in imminent danger of descending upon the West Wing any moment now, with Leo placed inevitably (meaning, professionally) between the dragon and her wrath.

"Yeah?" sighed Josh, appearing at Leo's door and leaning against it, bedraggled. The week's battle with the House Republicans over the stimulus package clearly had taken more out of Josh than Leo had noticed until this moment.

"Never mind," Leo replied.

"No, what's up?" Josh clearly was trying not to look as though he could be knocked over with a puff of air.

Leo hesitated.

"The President is over in the Sit Room," he told Josh. "Can you go poke your head in and remind him that the First Lady is waiting on him for dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." Josh frowned. "Is there... some reason you can't do that yourself?"

"I have to make sure that someone is here to intercept the First Lady before she gets to the Sit Room," Leo explained grimly.

"Okay." Josh looked slightly alarmed. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

But Josh did not reappear in a few minutes. Which meant that a confused Toby wandered over to Leo's office to see where Josh had disappeared to.

"Why is he in the Sit Room?" Toby asked, disgruntled.

"Because I sent him there to get the President for dinner," Leo sighed.

Toby stared at Leo.

"Isn't national security a priority that even the First Lady has to respect?"

"He's not in a briefing," Leo grumbled. "He's playing _games_ with the NSC."

"Like, war games?" Toby clarified, and when Leo shook his head, he added, "I'll go find Josh."

Leo, glancing up, had only just noticed that his clock's hands were at 8:30 p.m. when Sam dropped by.

"Did Toby come by here?"

"Sit Room," snapped Leo.

"Okay." Sam paused. "Sit Room?"

"Just..." Leo waved his hands at Sam. "Sit Room, yeah."

Only five minutes after he had sent Sam on his way did Leo realize that C.J. had already left for the evening, and he had probably just lost himself every potential ally he had against this nonsense, save for one.

"DONNA!" he roared out of his office door, because he had no idea what Donna's phone extension was.

" _You're_ not allowed to yell for me like that," Donna protested, when she appeared at Leo's door. "Honestly, it's unacceptable that _Josh_ gets to yell for me like that..."

"It is, and you should tell him to stop." Leo sized Donna up. "Donna, are you the type to be naturally tempted by the allure of fantasy role-playing games?"

Donna stared at Leo.

"That... seems like a _very_ personal question to ask."

"Not what you're thinking," Leo sighed. "If I were to send you to the Sit Room, into the center of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, to ask the President to extract himself for the sake of his long-suffering wife, would you be able to get in and out without any problems?"

"Maybe?" Donna looked as bewildered as Leo felt.

"It's just, I've realized that everyone I've sent in there has the temperament to get pulled into this kind of thing." Leo ran a distracted hand over his jaw. "Sam did operetta in college, so he's a natural target. Toby strikes me as the type to grow up reading Tolkien and still harbor very secret ambitions to write a fantasy epic in his nonexistent spare time. And Josh is, well... Josh."

Donna nodded sympathetically.

"Anyway, think you can go straight into the lion's den and emerge unscathed?" Leo concluded. "I don't want to have to ask the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence to call over to the Sit Room, just to keep the First Lady from biting off the President's head for being half an hour late to dinner."

"I'll do my best," Donna promised, and Leo watched her depart with a sigh of relief. Thank god there were at least a few other people in the West Wing who weren't going to get pulled into such frivolity.

Leo was halfway through editing a memo when his phone rang.

"Leo? Where the hell is my husband?!"

 _Shit_ , thought Leo, glancing at the clock. It was now 9:00. And Donna, too, had apparently failed him.

* * *

"Sam, if you don't start using your normal voice again, so help me, I will throw this die at your head and I will not miss," Toby muttered.

Sam bristled.

"I don' know why you're makin' such a big fuss about it, Druid Kaxius of the Tiefling Kingdom," he replied in a truly terrible Scottish accent.

"Honestly, you're just offending everyone, and embarrassing yourself," Josh grimaced.

"There will be no public shaming for enthusiastic displays of commitment to character," Fitz declared from the head of the table, which Bartlet had relinquished with good grace.

"But really, Sam, please do work on that accent before next session, or I'm going to worry about letting you attend the next state dinner with the British," Bartlet added.

"Oltrig, it's your turn," Fitz called to Josh.

"Okay, let's do this, um... I'm gonna move four yards forward, and then attack with my club." Josh blew on the die that Nancy passed him, shook it, then tossed it on the table.

"Ouch," commented Nancy.

"Re-roll," Josh announced, "Donna jostled the table, it was about to land on an eighteen..."

"No, that was a really fair three," Donna said reasonably, grabbing the die as Josh lunged across the table for it.

"Okay, a three." Fitz grinned. "For being a Half-Orc Barbarian in mêlée range, Oltrig is remarkably bad at aiming, and his club swings and somehow does _not_ hit the Goblin, which throws a fireball at Oltrig and..." Fitz rolled two dice. "And hits him, with a damage of fifteen."

"Fifteen?!" Josh threw himself backwards into the chair. "Aw, _c'mon_ Fitz, I already got bludgeoned this afternoon by the House Republicans, isn't that enough punishment for one day..."

"And Oltrig is knocked out and will remain that way for the rest of the battle, unless someone wants to use a turn to heal him," Fitz pronounced.

"No one heal him, please," muttered Toby very audibly.

"Fine," Josh ranted. "I'm gonna go back out there, then, and work on figuring out how to pass this friggin' stimulus package that the House keeps blocking, because that's actually gonna be _useful_ , unlike this... this... _fantasy thing_."

He opened the door and ran straight into Leo.

"Is he still in there?" Leo hissed at Josh. "Abbey's getting really pissed."

"Uhhhhh," replied Josh.

"Oh, for god's sake," muttered Leo, pushing his way into the Sit Room. "Mr. President, you need to get over to the East Wing. NOW."

Bartlet, looking for all the world like a child just caught with one hand in the cookie jar, swore under his breath, then begrudgingly stood as everyone else followed suit.

"Until our next meeting, Admiral Sissymary," he said seriously to Fitz, and then strode out of the room.

"You make a very noble Druid," Donna told Toby, as everyone started picking up their dice and character sheets. "Do you know where we can get these dice, by the way?"

"Et tu, Donna?" Leo said pointedly, and Donna blushed. "Okay, _none_ of you are allowed to let C.J. in on this, you hear? I need at least one other person to keep her head on straight while all of you sneak in here and pretend to battle dragons or whatever."

Josh and Sam exchanged a glance as Leo walked back out the door.

"I'm thinking a Half-Elf Ranger," Sam said immediately.

" _I'm_ a Half-Elf," Donna reminded him.

"Fine, a Wood Elf Ranger," Sam improvised. "C.J. seems like the type who'd feel happiest shooting at bad guys from a distance, don't you think?"

"I'm just looking forward to learning how to throw fireballs at things," Josh grumbled. "I'm gonna burn an entire metaphorical GOP platform to the ground, one monster at a time."

"Yeah, yeah," Donna sighed, standing. "Come on, Oltrig, time to go finish up those emails to the Speaker's office, so I can go home and get some sleep."

Josh, still petulant, followed her out the door.

"So," smirked Nancy, "can we expect to see you next week?"

Toby nodded, trying not to look too delighted.

"By the way, do you think that Admiral Sissymary would let us add one or two more members to the party?" Sam asked innocently.

* * *

"C.J.! C.J.!"

"I'm only taking one question today," the Press Secretary sighed. "Danny?"

"C.J., are you going to say anything more about the President's campaign?" Danny asked, because of _course_ he would. "Shouldn't he have had a stronger showing in Iowa? And what does it say that he's been avoiding his home state of New Hampshire?"

C.J. glared at Danny—didn't he realize that the President had an actual _country_ to run?

"Yeah, I'll say a few words about his campaign," she huffed. "The President, as a Level 2 Dragonborn Paladin, recently made his way through the Dark Forests of Lambarthia in search of the Magic Scrolls of Mannaram. During said journey, he was accosted by several dragons and a Lightning Elemental and took considerable damage in battle. Fortunately, his National Security Adviser, a Level 7 Gnome Warlock, was able to restore him to full health with several spells and a potion acquired after extensive bargaining with a Halfling apothecary in last week's session. Any other questions?"

"... C.J.? C.J.!"

C.J. sighed and walked away from the podium. She sincerely hoped that the press wasn't going to break down the door of the briefing room to follow her and demand further explanation.

"Did you really just say all of that? Out loud? To the _press_?" Charlie asked, joining C.J. as she rounded a corner and headed towards the Sit Room.

"Probably shouldn't have, but screw Danny for pushing my buttons like that," C.J. grumbled. Jesus, it would be nice if she'd gotten more than three hours of sleep the previous night.

"Yeah, I just mean, so much for the D&D game remaining top-secret and all, given that you just handed its existence to the national press," Charlie pointed out. "The Chairman isn't gonna be happy about that."

"Well, he can sic me with as many giant scorpions as he wants, I still have the benefit of a long-distance weapon and several healing potions on hand," C.J. scoffed. "And anything's better than having the press rabidly seizing on any bad polling they can get on the President's re-election campaign. Are you still knocked out from that brawl with the villagers in the tavern, by the way? Do you need me to heal you, off the bat?"

"Nah, I'm good. Fitz usually revives us for the starts of rounds, doesn't he?"

"We'll see," C.J. shrugged, holding the door for Charlie.

The NSC lounged in their assigned seats, idly tossing their dice as they chatted. The other White House staff had pulled up extra chairs to the table, and Sam was unsuccessfully trying to convince Nancy McNally that it was geographically impossible for their party to have just passed so quickly through the mountain range that they'd allegedly scaled, based on the stated altitude and the snowfall levels and the fact that no one had used magic at any point. C.J. and Charlie grabbed chairs near Josh and Toby and Donna, then jumped to their feet as Bartlet and Fitz entered.

"Okay, well, let's see if we can bring Jordon Kendall over to discuss its legality," Bartlet was saying to Fitz very quietly, but when he saw the crowd assembled, he spread his arms and said, "Greetings, fellow adventurers! My apologies for keeping you waiting."

"Mr. President," sighed Leo, who had resignedly taken up residence in the corner of the room with a stack of files to review while the rest of his colleagues engaged in this absurdity.

"Admiral Sissymary," Bartlet said, nodding as Fitz sat and everyone else followed suit.

"Welcome back, all," Fitz grinned. "And I sincerely hope you're all ready to find out, in the words of Brekasgod the Dragonborn, what's next."

Leo watched as the players eagerly listened to the scenario that Fitz rolled out for them in an unnecessarily sonorous voice. He noted how the President's face lit up with delight at each new challenge, at each skirmish, upon each unexpected plot twist driven by the follies of his staff. And it gradually occurred to Leo why Jed loved this so much, why they all did. In this world that Fitz created and controlled, the Bartlet Administration could _afford_ to slip up, could _afford_ to lose battles, could heal itself with a sip of potion or an uttered spell. This was the escapism that his friends needed, when so much of the world around them was impossible to control and had consequences far beyond those of a bad roll.

"Leo?" the President muttered as his Chief of Staff scooted his chair forward to join the table, his files neatly left behind in a stack.

"Yeah," Leo muttered back. "Or, actually, no—not 'Leo.' I think I'm supposed to be a Dwarf Wizard of some sort."


End file.
